“What are these?” she asked the man, studying the strange colored pieces and seeds.
His skin was dusky, his eyes shrewd as he answered in Irish, “Cinnamon and pepper from the Far East, lady.” He held up a sample, and the exotic scent made her close her eyes. To Styr, he said, “I will give you a good price for them.”
“No, you won’t.” Styr guided her away. “We came to ask you about a Norse woman.” He described Elena to the man, and Caragh interjected with her own questions about Brendan.
The man lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I do not remember them. But if you want to buy some of my spices, they will make your food taste like it came from a king’s table.”
“No.” Styr rested his hands on Caragh’s shoulders, guiding her away while the merchant kept pleading with them to stay. To her he muttered, “He knows nothing.”
As he led her forward, the pressure of his hands distracted her. His touch was warm, and she tried not to think of it as they continued to move through the marketplace. But her wicked mind conjured up the dream of walking at his side, his hand resting upon her waist.
She closed her eyes against the forbidden vision, blurting out something to break the silence between them. “Have you ever seen so many things in all your life? Those bracelets, and the cloth...I’ve never imagined anything so beautiful.”
“It’s silk,” Styr told her. “Brought over from the East.” He described the caravans from across the seas and lands where the sand stretched as far as the eye could see. Of a burning hot sun, and animals so strange, they had a single hump on their backs.
She sensed the longing in his voice and asked, “Have you seen them for yourself?” The exotic place sounded like a world away from anything she’d ever known.
“No. Elena never wanted to travel.” His hand dropped away from her shoulders, and she caught the tension in his voice, warning her not to ask.
Styr guided her toward another merchant who was selling meat pies, surprising her when he added, “When I was younger, I went south with my father to the kingdom of the Visigoths. The closer you sail to the Mediterranean, the warmer the sun is. The skin of the people is darker, and their winter is very short.”
It was the most she’d ever heard him speak, and the tone of his voice spoke of a man who dreamed of traveling to distant lands.
“You love the sea, don’t you?” she asked.
He nodded. “When I was a boy, I wanted to cross the largest sea. But my mother warned that if I went too far, I would be taken by Jörmungand, the serpent of Midgard.”
“Devoured alive.” She hid a smile, asking, “Do you still believe it?”
He shrugged, but she could see the superstition in his eyes. “There are many things on the sea that no man can understand. I have seen fish so large, their tails are the size of my home.”
“I would like to see that. But only if I had a man like you with me to slay the serpent,” she admitted. A tingle of nerves caught up in her stomach when she met his gaze. The tension had returned, and she couldn’t read the thoughts on his face.
She shouldn’t have confessed it to him. Because truthfully, the only reason she would consider journeying across the sea was if he were with her. Her thoughts were betraying her, leading her down a path she could not travel. It embarrassed her to know that he’d seen it in her eyes.
God above, if she could simply close off her heart, she would. But every time she looked into his dark eyes, she saw the futility of her feelings. The chains of unwanted attraction had utterly bound up her common sense. With difficulty, she shored up the brittle defenses around her heart.
She eyed the man selling meat pies and remarked to Styr, “I’ve never seen so much food. How can this be with the drought?”
He nodded toward the ships in the distance. “There are many who come to trade. If a man has silver, he can buy what he needs.”
Caragh touched the pouch of coins Terence had given her, grateful for her brother’s gift. Impulsively, she broke away from Styr, asking the merchant, “How much do you think your pies are worth?”
She offered her brightest smile, desperately needing a way to distance herself from Styr. Although they had broken their fast that morn, she knew the meager food wasn’t enough for a warrior the size of Styr.
“Ten pieces of silver,” the merchant proclaimed, and Caragh laughed at him.
“What kind of a fool do you think I am?”
“A hungry one?” he returned.
“We’ve no time for this,” Styr said, though she caught the way his eyes lingered upon the food. He was hungry, whether or not he would admit it.
Caragh bade him to wait, bargaining with the pie man. “Perhaps I would buy two pies for one piece of silver.”
The merchant shook his head. “Not enough.”
Disappointed, she was about to ask him about Elena and Brendan, only to find herself none-too-gently escorted away by Styr. “But what if he knows about—?” she started to say, before he gripped her hand tightly.
